In a catastrophic event that unfolded as America watched, the Gulf Coast was smashed by Hurricane Katrina 10 years ago on August 29, 2005. Mississippi communities Waveland, Pass Christian, Pascagoula and Biloxi were scoured from the map. Oil platforms and elevated highways were destroyed. Louisiana’s crown jewel, New Orleans, suffered mightily.

Beginning about August 23, the Category 3 storm built up a head before finally sweeping six days later through Louisiana and the rest of the Gulf Coast. Its massive storm surge of pushed-up sea water entered the city of New Orleans. Critical levees broke and canals spilled into neighborhoods. The flooding continued long after the hurricane had passed. Almost 300 people died in the Lower Ninth Ward, New Orleans East and nearby St. Bernard Parish alone. Bodies of 700 people would be discovered in the city over the ensuing weeks. Overall, at least 1,800 people from the city and Gulf area lost their lives during the event.

In the photo above, Colorado rescuers assisted in searching flooded homes for survivors. John Saito of West Metro Fire Station in Golden used his ax to climb atop a home while conducting a primary search in the Dahlman neighborhood of New Orleans. At left is Steve Aseltine, also of West Metro and at right is BM2 Michael Bull of the U.S. Coast Guard, who supplied security for the team. The members of the Colorado Urban Search and Rescue went to New Orleans to help evacuate residents in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. Denver Post photographer Craig F. Walker was on scene.

Troops patrol downtown New Orleans on Sept. 7, 2005. Officials said they would begin to force people to evacuate their flooded homes. (AP Photo/Rick Bowmer)

Hundreds of citizens took refuge in New Orleans’ Superdome football stadium and awaited help. It seemed slow to arrive. Little drinking water was available to them and oppressive heat and humidity were constants. Families were helpless for days, trapped, as all surrounding streets and highways were flooded.

Federal and local government response was severely criticized in the aftermath of the disaster, the worst the U.S. had ever seen. But mobilized troops brought food, potable water and order to the streets of New Orleans. The city was by no means the only community victim of the storm. It was, and still is, simply the most iconic and photographed example of an American catastrophe.

Debris scattered across Canal Street in the French Quarter of New Orleans, 29 August 2005. ( JAMES NIELSEN/AFP/Getty Images)

An oil platform ripped from its mooring in the Gulf of Mexico rests by the shore in Dauphin Island, Ala. Aug. 30, 2005 after hurricane Katrina passed through. (AP Photo/Peter Cosgrove)

At the settlement of Ludlow, near Trinidad, miners and their families huddle in a stark tent city. Because of the strike, they have been evicted from homes provided by the companies that employ the miners.

The tent city is about to become the site of a monumental eruption that will change U.S. labor relations forever.

* * *

In late 1913, the United Mine Workers of America organized a state-wide strike against Colorado’s biggest coal-producing companies, including Colorado Fuel & Iron Co. and the Rocky Mountain Fuel Co. Demands by the UMWA for better pay and working conditions for coal miners had gone unaddressed for years.

Coal mining is hard, dirty and dangerous work, but a hundred years ago, it was a big industry in Colorado, employing thousands of people. The industry had a high rate of worker deaths and few safeguards in place to correct that. The companies used guards to enforce strict rules on miners’ lives, effectively keeping them in serfdom.

In the midst of the strike, the coal companies used their guards to harass the strikers and protect substitute laborers, known as ‘scabs.’ There was even an armored car built by CF&I, in Pueblo, which had a machine gun mounted on it.

The strikers living in tents were occasionally fired on indiscriminately as part of the harassment. To protect their families, the striking miners dug pits below the platforms on which the tents sat to provide them further shelter.

Pits below the platforms…

* * *

The strike wears on.

Tensions are rising. Working men are pitted against armed company thugs.

The governor, Elias Ammons, calls in The Colorado National Guard to impose order. But the state recalls most of the Guard units in 1914, possibly for cost reasons. Then an ugly incident ends with retaliatory demolition of one of the tent enclaves, called Forbes camp.

The coal companies beef up security in the form of a militia made of their own hired guards put into National Guard uniforms.

Militia unloading supplies at Trinidad depot in 1913.

On the morning of April 20, a confusing series of events lead to an all-out gun battle at Ludlow camp between strikers and the militia, who have mounted a machine gun atop a knoll. The fight lasts all day. The armed militia is reinforced later in the day with fresh guards.

Fires begin to sweep through the tent city at Ludlow.

Some women and children take shelter by hiding beneath the platform of a single tent. The tent catches fire.

Two women and 11 children suffocate to death in the pit below, which had been dug to give them a place of safety.

* * *

The reported death toll has varied, but it is believed that 26 people died at Ludlow camp that day, including a handful of militiamen. More days of violence followed. The federal government was eventually called in to stop the bloodshed when dozens more miners and militiamen were killed in skirmishes in the days after the Ludlow massacre.

But it is perhaps the sorry deaths of two women and 11 children that has seared into the minds of American citizens in the hundred years since. The site of the killings is now a U.S. National Historic Landmark. The events at Ludlow camp are commemorated as a turning point in American labor relations. Needed reforms were finally enacted, though the mine workers’ union did not prevail in its demands at the time. The strike ended in December, 1914. In the aftermath, labor organizer Mary Harris Jones, known as “Mother” Jones, met with John D. Rockefeller Jr. He and other mine owners then made efforts to upgrade safety and comfort of workers.

There are many events planned in Colorado to commemorate the Ludlow Massacre (SEE LIST BELOW), but there are two to note:

Sunday, April 20, 20142 p.m. – Prayer vigil, Agape Service by St. John Greek Orthodox Church of Pueblo
LOCATION: Ludlow National Historic Landmark, 180 miles south of Denver, one-half mile west of Exit 27 off Interstate 25, Ludlow.

Sunday, May 18, 201411 a.m. – UMWA 100th Anniversary Commemorative Service (held on this date because the anniversary date this year, April 20, is Easter Sunday)
LOCATION: Ludlow National Historic Landmark, 180 miles south of Denver, one-half mile west of Exit 27 off Interstate 25, Ludlow.

A photo taken by The Denver Post in Starbuck, Colo., which was demolished by a 1933 flood in Bear Creek Canyon.

In this post about the deadly Big Thompson flood of 1976, a list of other deadly Colorado floods included a 1904 flood near Pueblo and the 1997 flash flood that claimed five lives in Fort Collins. But one Front Range flood was missing.

The Bear Creek Canyon flood on July 7, 1933 was a two-mile-long cloudburst that deluged three gulches along Bear Creek, reportedly arriving in the town of Starbuck (now Idledale) in a gush 20 feet high before rushing on through Morrison.

The July 8, 1933 Denver Post is full of eye-witness accounts, stories of heroism and reports of nearly 20 dead or missing.

“Steeped in mud and debris, its tiny business district a shambles, its two bridges washed out and the community marooned from the world, the mountain village of Idledale, more generally known as Starbuck, took stock of the destruction wrought by the twenty-foot wall of water that boiled down its one highway early Friday afternoon,” said one report.

A page from the July 8, 1933 Denver Post maps the location of the flood in Bear Creek Canyon.

Starbuck is often counted among the casualties of this event. At the time of the flood, it boasted a garage, two grocery stores, two dance halls, two cafes, a popcorn stand and a post office (which was also the barbershop, but more about that later), which were all wiped out by the rushing water. “Only somber hills of what had been lively meeting places for townsmen and tourists remained,” said one article.

Photos from July 8, 1933 Denver Post coverage of a flood in Bear Creek Canyon. From top, a stalled vehicle in Starbuck; Denver Mountain Park tourists stranded between Starbuck and Evergreen; a family outside their demolished Starbuck cabin; and the highway below Morrison covered by flood waters.

Today, Idledale is a community of residences, a post office and a church along a roughly one-mile stretch of Colorado Highway 74, and only local history buffs know the name Starbuck.

But that doesn’t mean that the people of Starbuck packed up and moved out. Plans were already in the works to build a road between Bear Creek Canyon and Mount Vernon Canyon Road (Highway 40), and within hours of the flood, residents petitioned to begin the work immediately. County commissioners met in Starbuck the Sunday following the flood to survey the damage and agreed to make the new road passable within days.

The task of replacing the washed out Bear Creek Highway from Idledale to Morrison, however, was a larger one. The state and federal governments rebuilt what is now part of Colorado State Highway 74. The highway department was blamed for delay amid efforts to build the new roadway above the banks of the creek, but the road eventually reopened by early spring 1934. In the years that followed, and after other floods, more efforts were made to raise the road above the banks of the small creek, including a wall between Idledale and Morrison to guard against high waters.

Photos from July 8, 1933 Denver Post coverage of a flood in Bear Creek Canyon. From top, the wrecked vehicle of Starbuck resident E.P. Gates covered with debris; the outlet of a gulch leading into the canyon, which suffered an avalanche; still-high flood waters following the event; and debris on a bridge in downtown Morrison.

It was called “the worst flood in the history of Denver’s mountain parks,” referring to Corwina and present-day Lair O’ the Bear parks, where many tourists and locals alike picnicked and camped. Vehicles were washed down the creek and disappeared, and accounts of victims clinging to the walls of the canyon or barring cabin doors against the wall of water littered the paper.

In Denver, the banks of Cherry Creek were awash with high waters and in Southeast Denver, one article reports, a reader called the paper to notify them of a “voluminous chorus of bullfrogs,” believed to be brought into the city from their regular rural habitat. Another describes the damage to the fish ponds at Thomas B. Howard’s Denver estate, which he kept as a game refuge bounded by Sixth and Eleventh avenues and Ulster and Yosemite streets (present-day site of Lowry Community Christian Church). His farmed fish filled surrounding fields and gardens.

One article even tells some dry tales of how “Tragedy mingles with comedy in flooded Bear Creek towns.”

As Postmaster Peters watched his barbershop-post office fill with mud and water, he reached for his banjo. However, finding it out of tune, he decided it was no time for music and “tossed his banjo into the swirling waters.”

Morrison residents and visitors reached for their buckets when they discovered that a gasoline tank was leaking into the flood waters. “Dashing thru three and four feet of water, they filled their containers against a better day when they will be able to drive their cars over the newly-made mountain highways now wiped out.”

Mechanic Myron Utterback had the only working phone in town at Morrison Auto Supply & Garage, so when a man came by asking to use it, he conceded. Myron pulled out his “prescription whisky” and offered the man a swig, just as he discovered the man was phoning the police. Given the prohibition-era date, Myron choked on his drink. “‘Oh don’t mind me’ said Police Chief Albert T. Clark. ‘That is medicine and besides that, it’s none of my business. Take a good one you’ll need it to keep away from pneumonia.'”

A page from the July 8, 1933 Denver Post coverage of the Bear Creek Canyon flood.

The 1965 floods of the South Platte River basin swept through the Front Range and Eastern Plains of Colorado leaving 21 dead, 250,000 acres inundated and $540 million in damage. Heavy rains on four consecutive days in three different areas of the South Platte basin caused flooding from Plum Creek, south of Denver, to the Nebraska state line.

The storms took place over the Greeley-Sterling area on June 14-15, the Plum Creek and Cherry Creek basins on June 16 and the Kiowa and Bijou Creeks near Deer Trail on June 15 and 17, causing floods in 15 counties. Warm, humid air from the Gulf of Mexico had mixed with a cold pattern from the Northeast, and the turbulent stew stalled along the Front Range for 23 days, packing in moisture that would eventually spawn the tremendous rainfall on June 16.

The main flood through the metro Denver area on June 16 originated in the Plum Creek basin after 14 inches of rain fell south of Castle Rock. By the time the runoff reached Sedalia, the water widened East Plum Creek from 3 feet to nearly a mile. The wall of rushing water swept away trees, houses, cars and livestock before plunging into the South Platte below Littleton.

The violent waters reached Littleton, Englewood and Denver at about 8 p.m., destroying 120 houses and damaging 935. Two hundred eighty mobile homes were lost and 16 bridges in Denver were demolished.

After the flood, Chatfield and Bear Creek reservoirs were built to control storm waters.

Astronomy buffs went to the Fiske Planetarium in Boulder to see the “Planets of Doom” show on March 9, 1982. The show presented proof that the Jupiter effect theory was not true. Glen Martin/Denver Post File Photo

As the planets aligned in the early morning hours of March 10, 1982, some people feared that the natural disasters forecast in the book the “Jupiter Effect” were about to happen.

Like the Mayan calendar apocalypse prophecy of 2012 and other doomsday theories, the “Jupiter Effect” predicted world devastation. A series of natural disasters were to occur as the planets in the solar system aligned. A combination of sunspot activity together with increased planetary pull caused by the configuration were to trigger solar winds, major earthquakes and tidal waves according to the 1974 bestseller.

The configuration of the planets, though not in the exact same alignment as predicted by the authors, was close. Fortunately, the doomsday forecasts weren’t fulfilled and no major natural disasters were reported.

Starkville, Colorado three days after the mine explosion. The mine can be seen in the background. October 11, 1910

The Starkville Mine, one of the oldest coal producers in southern Colorado, was considered one of the safest in the area until an explosion on the night of October 8, 1910 killed 56 men. A spark from a short circuit on an overhead trolley line ignited coal dust causing a blast of such magnitude that it was heard and felt in Trinidad seven miles away.

Trip cars at the entrance of the Starkville Mine taken several months before the explosion. Note the overhead trolley line. This is what short circuited and sparked causing the blast. April 1910.

Huge rocks and timbers were blown hundreds of feet from the mouth of the mine, and 40 feet of tunnel collapsed closing the entrance. A relief train of doctors, nurses and mine officials departed from Trinidad for the mine, arriving 45 minutes later. Rescuers determined the quickest way to the trapped miners was to blast another opening 300 yards from the entrance, instead of attempting to clear the debris from the collapsed tunnel.

New entrance to Starkville mine from which rescue work was conducted. Mules hauled the rock because the electricity was blown out in the explosion. October 1910.

Fearful that afterdamp, a poisonous gas mixture left after an explosion, would kill the trapped miners, a portable fan was set up to push fresh air through the cuts and passageways of the mine. A cement wall separating the Starkville Mine from the Engleville Mine, which backed up to it, was torn open so the gaseous air could be suctioned out.

Family and friends await word after the Starkville Mine explosion. October 1910.

Rescuers from miles around worked in relays to reach the buried miners, as the families stood vigil outside the mine. During the first few days there was hope for survivors, but rescuers ran into pockets of toxic fumes and afterdamp forcing delays. Many of the rescuers were overcome, needing emergency treatment.

It wasn’t until three days after the explosion, on October 11, that the first bodies were reached. Eleven men were found two miles within the mine. The next day, 11 more were found. Eventually all 56 were located – there were no survivors.

The mine’s machine shop was pressed into service as a temporary morgue. Relatives and friends waited outside the rope “dead” line as bodies were brought in.

On October 25, 1910, The Denver Post reported, “The condition of forty of the dead and the emptiness of their dinner pails showed they had lived from five to twenty-four hours and died from the effects of the after-damp following the explosion. These men did not show signs of having been in flames nor the concussion, their bodies were not bruised or broken, hair was unsinged and color natural to a person dead from ordinary causes.”

The owner of the mine, Colorado Iron & Fuel Company, attempted to lay blame for the explosion on a runaway trip of cars. However, the cars were found intact with the driver and trip rider lying dead beside them, disproving their claim. Inspection determined that the mine had been insufficiently sprinkled to keep the coal dust damp, though repeatedly warned by the state.

On December 1, 1910, a jury found the Colorado Fuel & Iron Company guilty of gross negligence resulting in the deaths of the 56 miners.

The Big Thompson flood of 1976 was the deadliest flash flood in Colorado’s recorded history. On July 31, between 12 and 14 inches of rain fell over a four-hour period in the mountains around the resort town of Estes Park. Unusual weather patterns allowed the huge storm system to stall over the area as it dumped its load.

Witnesses later described difficulty breathing in the moisture-laden air as the rain drove “straight down, lukewarm and not an ounce of wind,” creating a heavy spray all around them. Water gathered speed as it washed over the steep rocky hillsides and flushed through the flatter meadows, all of it heading for the bottom of the V-shaped canyon.

By 9 p.m., water sweeping into the Big Thompson River had taken it from an average depth of 18 inches to a 20-foot wall of water that crashed through the length of the canyon. Recordings taken at the mouth of the Big Thompson canyon showed the flow of water at 31,200 cubic feet per second at its peak.

Approximately 4,000 people were in the canyon during Colorado’s centennial weekend, most of them from outside the area. For some, the only alert of the danger was by word of mouth. Telephone lines were ripped and mangled – power poles and bridges destroyed. Huge boulders, trees, houses, propane tanks, cars, mobile homes and everything else in the path of the wall of water were tossed around as if in a giant blender. The frightening roar of the churning debris was illuminated by frequent lightning strikes.

State Patrol Sgt. W. Hugh Purdy left his Loveland home to investigate and support two of his officers who were called to the area on reports of rock slides. They quickly encountered a disaster in the making and tried to evacuate the area. Officer Purdy reported the dire rise of water levels as he neared the little town of Drake, but by then, he was trapped and overwhelmed by the rush of the flood. Other valiant police and fire officials made every effort to warn people and prompt them to take action.

Some of those who escaped did so with barely time to climb or drive out. Many who tried to drive out ahead of the storm were trapped in their cars and swept to their deaths.

The monstrous flood took 143 lives and injured 150 people. Some bodies were carried away as far as 25 miles. Some bodies were never recovered. One man who left the area that morning was presumed a victim until located decades later, living in Oklahoma. The flood caused $35 million in damage, destroying 418 homes and 52 businesses, 438 vehicles, bridges, roads, the highway and power and telephone lines.

In 2001, on the 25th anniversary, a stone memorial was placed near Drake, Colorado. The marker lists the names of those who perished in the flood.

One legacy of the historic event can be seen in the number of signs that now dot Colorado’s mountain roads and highways: “Climb to safety” in case of flooding.

1904: Floodwaters weakened a bridge near Pueblo, causing it to
collapse under the weight of a train, killing at least 97 people
and leaving 14 unaccounted for.

1921: The Arkansas River burst its banks after three days of rain.
Water roared through downtown Pueblo. More than 100 people were
presumed dead, though the death toll may have been higher because some
victims were transients and not easily traced.

1933: A dam on Cherry Creek failed after heavy rain. Seven people
died in Denver, and damage was estimated at $1 million. Also in 1933, a flash flood decimated Bear Creek Canyon, forever changing the little town of Starbuck, which is now known as Idledale. See more about this flood, with historic photos, here.

1965: Plum Creek and the South Platte River flooded through Denver,
killing 21 people and wiping out 2,500 homes and 750 businesses.
There was $540 million in damage, most of it uninsured.

1976: A flash flood through Big Thompson Canyon was the state’s
deadliest disaster, killing 144 people and causing $35.5 million in
damage.

1997: A flash flood in Fort Collins, killed five people and
caused $200 million in damage, including 25 buildings at Colorado
State University.